Free Becoming Americans by Donald Batchelor Page A

nights.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â "Old Ned! My clothes! Where are they? I'm sorry I drank from your rum, but I need my breeches and shirt. Old Ned!"
    Â Â Â Â Â Â The old man opened his eyes for a moment, then closed them again. He made no sign of understanding what the problem was.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â "Damn you, Boy, for waking me. I'm not to speak with you. Only to say that I'm to take you to church myself. And damn you for that." Old Ned rolled back over.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Richard lay back on his bed. Maybe, if he hadn't fought so much with his cousins, Uncle Edward wouldn't have sent him to this place.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â No! He'd wanted to come. He was glad to be in Virginia! Yesterday's dream might be gone, but he'd soon have another.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Edward stepped into the cabin. Surprising Richard, Edward looked stern, and he spoke in a loud voice. "Father says for you to fetch Old Ned's breakfast, and for you to row the boat to church yourself." He shut the door behind himself, turning back into the morning haze.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Richard dressed hurriedly in his blue breeches and doublet and tied the ribbons of his shoes. He ran to the kitchen cabin where female servants lived who fed the single men. He was given tankards of ale and a piece of corn pone for himself and Old Ned. Ale splashed on his linen cuffs as he rushed back to the cabin.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â He silently offered the ale and bread to the man. But then, he had to speak.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â "I didn't do it, you know, Old Ned. Not like it looks, I didn't."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â The man tipped his tankard.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â "Was there a good bonfire, then?" Richard asked. "Were there games of chance?"
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Old Ned chewed the pone and looked away.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â "Aye, we're betting on the number of lashes you'll receive," he said.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Richard left the cabin and went to the river's edge. He must prepare himself to go through this with dignity. He could at least do that, he thought.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â The tide was going out as he rowed against it, upstream to church. God was starting the punishment early.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â They were among the very first arriving to the churchyard, and Old Ned told him that he was to proceed inside and take his place at the rear of the church. He would be alone with God to consider his sins, and he would forego the social aspects of the day.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â The church was dark and damp. Oiled-paper windows let in very little light, and the dirt floor, though protected from the rain, was dank and pitted with wormholes. He heard mice chewing on a bench. A black snake slithered underneath the wall.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â He tried to be remorseful. He remembered the words he'd heard all his life; that God was good, that God was love. Yet, all he'd seen of God's influence in life's daily affairs and the workings of men's minds and actions still left him wondering. What had he done to warrant the treatment he was about to receive? Was God so angry about the blue suit? Or, was it the rum he took? Or, maybe that he hadn't told someone about the brads? God had no sense of humor, he did know that.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Gathering voices outside talked about the night before. Men compared stories of the tricks they'd pulled, or of the wenches they'd been with, or of how their heads had never ached so badly. He heard the rumor of a visiting servant to the Ware plantation who had broken into Ware's house to steal his good wine then had destroyed Ware's entire tobacco crop, all casked and weighed for shipping.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â The church door opened and Richard fell to his knees, assuming the posture of penitence and supplication. As the parishioners entered the sanctuary he modestly returned to his seat, looking downward but towards the aisle. He was the subject of muttered comments and